During my break on Tuesday 23 June, I watched two hippies (whom I have affectionately named Shaggy and Scooby) spend at least thirty minutes attempting to attach their dog carrier onto the roof of their car. Scooby did most of the work, whereas Shaggy stood by overseeing. She also repeatedly pulled up her jeans, which must have been at least two sizes too big for her tiny frame.
They were dancing with twine before I went on break, during and a good five minutes after - but eventually they went on their merry way.
I wonder how far along the highway they went before the dog crate flew off the car?
I wonder why I must be so cursed as to find myself constantly accosted by individuals from a past I'm not willing to revisit?
Let me explain: Around two O'clock on this same Tuesday as Shaggy and Scooby, as I'm walking back to the register in efforts to find something with which to dust the store, I am met with a ghost.
Nearly tripping over my own feet, I stopped and did what some of us might do when met by a specter such as he: I gaped.
I pointed and asked him a simple question, though the effort of getting that question out was not simple at all.
"Do I know you?" I asked him, this ghost and if indeed he was a ghost it perhaps was not wise of me to be talking at him. "Yes," I said, "I do know you." It was at that point when I left him, awash with a myriad of old emotions tasting of that stagnant film draping homemade pudding.
This ghost did not leave me alone, however. He bought a t-shirt and a belt I wish I had seen a lot earlier (meaning I would have prevented this geist from procuring such an item - because why would a ghost need a leather belt with an ornate metal buckle?).
When finally he did leave, I did not say good-bye (rude, yes, but I did have another customer to attend to). I dared not speak his name, for fear that be him a mere ghost his name would bring about a resurgence of his existence.
They were dancing with twine before I went on break, during and a good five minutes after - but eventually they went on their merry way.
I wonder how far along the highway they went before the dog crate flew off the car?
I wonder why I must be so cursed as to find myself constantly accosted by individuals from a past I'm not willing to revisit?
Let me explain: Around two O'clock on this same Tuesday as Shaggy and Scooby, as I'm walking back to the register in efforts to find something with which to dust the store, I am met with a ghost.
Nearly tripping over my own feet, I stopped and did what some of us might do when met by a specter such as he: I gaped.
I pointed and asked him a simple question, though the effort of getting that question out was not simple at all.
"Do I know you?" I asked him, this ghost and if indeed he was a ghost it perhaps was not wise of me to be talking at him. "Yes," I said, "I do know you." It was at that point when I left him, awash with a myriad of old emotions tasting of that stagnant film draping homemade pudding.
This ghost did not leave me alone, however. He bought a t-shirt and a belt I wish I had seen a lot earlier (meaning I would have prevented this geist from procuring such an item - because why would a ghost need a leather belt with an ornate metal buckle?).
When finally he did leave, I did not say good-bye (rude, yes, but I did have another customer to attend to). I dared not speak his name, for fear that be him a mere ghost his name would bring about a resurgence of his existence.
No comments:
Post a Comment